


If You Came Around

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: Anya is a museum curator stuck with a piece donated from an estate sale with no tags or markings. After being unable to identify its origin, she enlists help from Lily, who refers her to an old acquaintance. Reluctant at first, Anya finds herself coming back to him for more than just his art expertise.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Lily Malevsky-Malevitch/Vlad Popov
Comments: 42
Kudos: 37





	1. A Puzzle Piece

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to finally share this piece with all of you! This has been in the works for quite some time, based on a little idea I had a few months ago. I hope you have as much fun reading as I've had writing! <3

Anya stood in the basement of the museum, staring at a ceramic pot with no tags. After the museum had closed last night she had hauled it up to a ceramics display to see if she could match the markings on it to anything in the hall—but to no avail. 

Her expertise was in studio art. Her ability to identify visual media was a godsend to the museum. But as the museum was chronically short staffed, she had gotten stuck with a ceramic piece, which was currently vexing her brain. She had no tags, no lead, and no idea where it originally came from. It had recently been donated to the museum from an estate sale, where the previous owner had held possession of it for at least 30 years. 

Based on the other items in the home, it could have easily been priceless. 

Anya sighed and brushed the stray hairs out of her face as she looked at the piece and then dug her hands into her hips as she shifted her weight. She took the photos she had printed of the piece and flipped through them, hoping if she wandered enough halls in the museum, something would give her a clue. 

The pot glared back at her, like a piece of a puzzle she could not solve. Frustrated with herself, cursing the museum for being short on ceramics experts, Anya let out a sigh. 

She grabbed a catalogue and flipped through it. She had already turned these pages a hundred times looking for an answer, but somehow she was hoping this time she would get lucky.

The phone in the basement rang and she started and turned over her shoulder to look at it. That phone never rang. 

Anya grabbed it and answered it, tucking the phone in her shoulder as she flipped pages in the catalogue. 

“Darling, you’re late,” a voice came over the receiver. 

She inhaled sharply and grabbed the receiver as her head snapped up. 

“Lily I am so sorry!” Anya said quickly as she looked at the pot on the stack of crates beside her. She closed the catalogue and put it aside. 

“I figured you had your nose in a book somewhere,” Lily laughed. 

“How did you–?” Anya looked at the phone. She held it back to her ear, “how did you know to call this phone?”

Lily laughed, “Darling, I spent more hours in that basement than I’ll ever admit. And that was before cell phones when I was in the middle of a heated affair. It’s much less suspicious if he calls at work when you’re alone—I’ll let you figure the rest of that one out.”

“Gross,” Anya murmured and she stuck her tongue out. 

“See you in a bit, Dear,” Lily said warmly. 

“Thanks, Lily,” Anya smiled warmly and hung the receiver up. 

She stared at the pot for a moment longer, as if her glare was going to change its status as a mystery. 

Her shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh, and she crouched down to pick it up and safely store it away in a crate. She swiped her photos off a spare crate and gathered her belongings. Lily didn’t like to wait, so she wouldn’t keep her any longer.

* * *

Anya’s fingers gently wrapped around a tea cup and she quietly sipped as she bit back her words. She sat across the table from Lily Malevsky-Malevich at in a tea room just a few blocks south of the museum. 

Lily was a woman of high and particular taste. As Anya's godmother, Lily had tried for many years to rub that trait off onto Nicky and Alix's humble daughter, but had little success in doing so. She took a sip from her own teacup as she flipped through a menu, as unbothered as if Anya were not even there.

Anya crossed her feet under her chair and then uncrossed them. She set her teacup on its saucer and messed with her napkin in her lap to keep her hands busy while Lily looked at the menu. 

She picked up her teacup and sipped from it, waiting for Lily to look up from her menu. 

Lily set the menu down and pulled her reading glasses off and set them down with a sigh. 

“Lily, I wanted to ask you something,” Anya said firmly as she set her teacup on its saucer. 

“Of course, Darling,” Lily nodded as she looked at Anya, “anything.”

Anya’s brow knit and she grabbed her purse. 

Lily’s brow arched. Anya was usually never this nervous around her. As she watched Anya her brow knit as she ran through scenarios of what Anya could possibly have to say. 

Anya pulled a photograph out of her purse and stared at it for a moment. 

Lily looked across the table at Anya. 

Anya pursed her lips and searched for the words to explain. “I know your days at the museum are long over, but I have something that no one can seem to place. It has no identifiable tags. I was wondering if I could just—pick your brain a little.”

Lily’s lip stiffened at the mention of the museum. She had been a lead curator for decades before heading happily into her retirement. 

“I don’t know,” Lily replied coldly. 

Anya looked down at the photograph and then at Lily with pleading eyes, “you’re the best in the business.”

Lily extended her hand out to take the photo from Anya. She looked at it for a moment and then her brow knit. 

“Lily?” Anya whispered. 

Lily held a finger up to silence her. She studied the photograph. 

Anya’s heart raced as seconds passed. She watched as Lily’s eyes scanned over the photo and then flicked back up to look at her. 

“I don’t know darling,” Lily said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Anya’s shoulders dropped. Lily had been her last hope. She nodded, coming to terms with the fact this pot might remain in storage for years unidentified. 

“—but I know someone who would be able to identify this,” Lily said quietly. 

“You do?” Anya gasped and her eyes lit up. “Who is it?”

Lily looked at her for a moment and reached into her purse. She pulled out a notepad and scribbled down a name and the name of a bar. 

“Take this,” Lily replied sharply as she handed the note and the photo to Anya. “You’re going to go around 9 p.m. When you get to the bar, ask for Dmitry.”

“Lily, why does this sound like some sort of secret mission?” Anya laughed. 

“He might be unwilling, but if you’ve tried every other nook and cranny in the city—he might have the answer you’re looking for,” Lily replied. “And don’t tell him I sent you.”

Anya nodded and folded the slip of paper and put it in her purse, “thank you, Lily.”

“Of course, Darling,” Lily winked at her. 

Anya smiled shyly. She didn’t like to take advantage of Lily’s expertise, but it didn’t hurt that she could also plead as her goddaughter.

* * *

Anya got out of a cab in the west village at 8:45 p.m., about a block away from the bar Lily had scribbled down. She walked quickly and her heart raced as she headed to the door.

She wasn’t as familiar with this part of the city and Lily’s brief but specific instructions were making her stomach turn. 

In her head she repeated the directions, hoping to calm her nerves— _go to the bar, ask for Dmitry_. It seemed a simple enough task but getting this piece tagged and identified was proving to be a beast of its own kind. 

She pulled the door open to find herself in a somber bar. Only a few patrons were scattered across tables, and lull of music played in the background. It was a Tuesday, so she wasn’t surprised, but it still felt strange. She immediately felt out of place being so dressed up from work. 

Anya wrung her hands for a moment and looked around. She scanned the room, not sure who she was exactly looking for. 

Taking Lily’s words into consideration, she headed straight for the bar and sat down. 

She glanced around and didn’t see any men alone at the bar that she would even want to approach. If Lily knew when and where he would be, he must be some sort of regular

She clutched her purse in her lap and waited a moment longer until she caught the bartender’s attention. 

He threw a rag over his shoulder and turned to her. “What can I get started for you?” 

“I–“ Anya began. She paused and held her tongue, deciding how best to approach this. She inhaled sharply and looked at him, “I actually am looking for someone named Dmitry.”

The bartender arched his eyebrow as he looked her up and down. His face was cold and stoic, and Anya wasn’t sure if this was a mistake. 

She swallowed hard and held her ground. She didn’t like his attitude but if it got her closer to placing this piece, she would put up with it. 

“I’m Dmitry,” he replied as he carefully eyed her. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for someone with some expertise in ceramics,” Anya said firmly. “I was told you’re the best in the city.”

Dmitry’s face softened as he laughed, “It’s been a long time since someone asked me about that.”

“So you can help me?” Anya asked. She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“That depends,” Dmitry replied as he turned and picked up a glass. 

“On?”

“What’s in it for me?” Dmitry shrugged as he polished a glass and then his eyes flicked at her. 

“What’s in it for you?” Anya repeated. She almost laughed. “Well, doing a good deed, for starters!”

Dmitry looked at her without speaking a word. His brow arched, unimpressed. 

Anya cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably on her barstool. 

“What are you, some kind of museum curator?” Dmitry asked as he leaned on the bar. 

“Metropolitan Museum of Art, actually,” Anya straightened her shoulders. “How did you know?”

“You’re the only ones with any interest in ceramics these days,” Dmitry replied. “Are you going to buy a drink?”

“Are you going to help me?” Anya asked. 

“That depends,”

“You already said that.”

“And I’m repeating it, because you don’t seem to listen,” Dmitry replied. “Do they stuff your ears with cotton as a baptism on the Upper East Side?”

Anya’s jaw hung open with offense. “Excuse me?”

“You’re all the same.” He paused and his shoulders dropped, “I’ve been around the block with art curators like you, and it never ends well for me. Who told you where to find me?”

“I was told not to say,”

“Loose lips sink ships in this city,” Dmitry’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at her. 

Anya glared at him. 

He broke her gaze and exhaled. “What are you looking for?” 

“I have a piece with no tags, and I can’t identify it,” Anya replied as she reached into her purse. “I have photos but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

She pulled the photos out of her purse and handed them to him. 

He took them and leaned on the bar as he flipped through them. His brow arched and he looked back at her. 

Anya looked at him with hopeful eyes. 

“Do you mind if I take these?” He asked. 

“Sure, but please take my card,” Anya replied, digging through her purse. She pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “If you find something please give me a call.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know for sure,” he nodded as he took the card from her. “Can I get you a drink or not?”

“A Cosmo, for your trouble,” Anya ordered. 

Dmitry’s lip curled into a smile and he set to work. 

Anya dug through her purse for several spare bills and dropped them in the tip jar. 

He poured the drink into a glass and garnished it. Before he placed it on the bar, he held it back. 

“One more thing,” he smirked, “what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t say it,” Anya replied. “But it’s on my card–”

“I’m asking you,” Dmitry interrupted. 

“Do you not know how to read?” Anya asked. 

Dmitry laughed, letting her attempt at a sharp jab roll off his shoulders. “Of course I do, but it’s not about what it says, it’s about how you say it.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Anya shook her head. 

“What’s your name?”

“Anya,”

“Anya?” He looked at her. “Well that’s interesting, this card here says ‘Anastasia.’”

Anya closed her eyes and grit her teeth. 

“See what I mean? You prefer to go by a name that’s not the name on that card. There’s a story there.”

Anya looked at him as she exhaled. She would have a word with Lily about her acquaintances later. 

He placed the drink on the bar. “Enjoy, Anya.”

“Thank you.”

Anya took a sip of the drink, even though the devilish grin he wore told her he very well could have poisoned her if he wanted to. 

Anya heard a bit of laughter escape his lips and she knew her expression must have looked horrified. She shook her head to wipe her face blank. 

“Have a good night,” he said softly as he gently tapped on the bar. 

He wiped the bar down and chatted with a couple patrons at the bar before disappearing into the kitchen.

Anya stared at the door where he disappeared for a moment longer. He was strange, and she had no idea why Lily would have any connection to him. She looked down into her glass. She felt oddly empty handed without her photos, and could only put her trust in him that he would get back to her. 


	2. A False Lead

On her lunch break nearly a week later, Anya sat across from her older sister, Tatiana, at a small table on the patio of a cafe. A slight breeze rippled the tablecloth against her legs, and her knee bounced under the table. 

Tatiana sat, relaxed and tall, with her legs crossed as she gazed onto the street. 

Anya checked her phone and flipped it over onto the table, trying to keep her attention on her sister. Tatiana’s face was expressionless as she sipped on a glass of water with lemon—her eyes were hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. Anya couldn’t actually tell where or what she was looking at. 

Anya folded her hands in her lap and unfolded them and scooted her chair closer to the table. 

Tatiana pulled her glass from her lips with the care to not mess up her lipstick and paused. Anya could feel her eyes watching her even though she could not see them. 

“Nastya, you’re fidgeting,” Tatiana finally broke the silence between them. 

“I’m fine,” Anya replied quickly. 

Tatiana cracked a face of disbelief but Anya could not see it behind her glasses. 

Anya checked her phone again. No notifications. 

“What is going on with you?” Tatiana asked. 

Anya didn’t know exactly how to explain to her sister that she had been struggling to identify a piece at work from a department she had no expertise in, and followed Lily’s advice down to the west village to a bar Tatiana would find questionable to speak to a bartender who allegedly knew ceramics, and she was waiting for him to call her, while very well knowing he probably wouldn’t. So instead she said—

“Nothing.”

Tatiana let out an exasperated sigh and pulled her sunglasses off, squinting at the bright light. She looked Anya in the eye, “something is bothering you.”

“It’s work,” Anya waved her off, “it's not important.”

Anya sipped on her glass of water so she would not have to expand on that thought. 

Tatiana’s brow arched, “you look like you’re going to have a mental breakdown if your phone doesn’t ring.”

Anya choked and stopped drinking. She placed her glass back on the table and wiped her mouth as she collected herself. 

She bit her tongue at her sister’s ice-cold reading. It was true, she was waiting for Dmitry to call her. More likely, she was expecting him to call and say he couldn’t help her. Or even worse, not call her at all and rudely keep a hold on the photos she had given him. She just didn’t know it was so apparent on her face. 

“You wear everything on your face, Nastya,” Tatiana said matter-of-factly. “You can’t fool us.”

Anya frowned, “I don’t wear everything on my face.”

Tatiana looked at her with her brow arched. Anya cleared her throat.

“Tell me about your gallery opening, it’s in three weeks,” Anya quickly changed the subject. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Tatiana replied as she sipped her drink. She was relatively cool and collected about the event. 

Anya was proud. She could still remember the days Tatiana’s stomach would turn for weeks before an opening. 

Working with art appeared to be a trait that ran in the Romanov family. Tatiana managed a gallery on the Upper East Side where she frequently hosted themed social gatherings for showcases, and worked with the top art buyers and sellers in the world. The social scene was definitely more Tatiana’s terrain than Anya’s. Anya was happy to be stuck in a museum basement for hours if it meant she did not have to work with another person. Tatiana was always better at small talk, anyway. 

“Is Lily coming?” Anya asked. 

Tatiana stopped drinking and looked at Anya, “I invited her, of course, but she didn’t give me a definite confirmation. Have you seen her lately? Is she well?”

“I had lunch with her last week,” Anya said softly. 

Tatiana looked relatively unbothered as their plates were delivered to their table. Anya looked up and thanked their waiter. 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t be a little hurt if she didn’t come,” Tatiana confessed. “She always comes! She’s the whole reason I got into managing this gallery.” 

Anya nodded, thinking back to her lunch with Lily, “she’s always carried a level of mystery, but she didn’t seem out of the ordinary when we last spoke.”

“Maybe she’s become a crazy old woman in her retirement,” Tatiana replied. “She spent too much time with Nana, that must have done something to her.”

Anya laughed. 

“So what about that ‘work stuff’ then?” Tatiana asked. 

“Hm?” Anya replied as she looked up from her salad. 

Tatiana gave her an expectant look. 

“Oh,” Anya replied sheepishly. “I got stuck with this piece that has no tags. Lily sent me an acquaintance who might be able to help, but he hasn’t called.”

“And that’s what’s got you on edge?” Tatiana laughed. 

“He didn’t seem the most reliable,” Anya added. “I don’t know why Lily thought he might know.”

“She always has a surprise up her sleeve,” Tatiana mused. 

Anya paused in the middle of her forkful and looked at Tatiana.

“What?” Tatiana asked. “You know Lily, she gets bored, and she pulls a trick out of her sleeve—she’s been doing it for years. That’s what I’m hoping she’s doing for my opening, anyway.” Tatiana twisted the napkin in her lap. 

Anya placed her fork down and thought for a moment as she watched cars pass on the busy city street. Tatiana had a point. Lily liked to be amused.

* * *

Tatiana’s words lingered on her mind as she stood in the basement of the museum. Anya was back to this stubborn pot. She had waited so long for Dmitry to get back to her, her competitive nature almost pulled her into wanting to beat him to an answer so she could shove it in his face if he ever decided to call her back. 

She looked at photos of common markings and tried her best to place what she could. She was getting closer but she wasn’t quite there yet. 

After flipping through a catalogue, she noted a marking on it that she matched to a tool that made sense to make that indentation. It was a small step. But she wasn’t positive. 

Anya let out a groan and ran her fingers through her hair. She let out a sigh and released her fingers, stray strands of hair falling in her face. 

As more days passed, she had accepted that Dmitry probably wasn’t going to call. It should have been a simple task. He either knew or he didn’t know. It shouldn’t take a week to come to that realization. 

Maybe Lily was wrong and the lead on him was a dead end after all. That’s what she deserved for putting her last hope in a bartender, she supposed. 

Anya’s composure softened as she sighed and relaxed the tension in her shoulders. That was as far as she was getting with this stubborn pot today. She carefully stored the pot away. There were a few visual media pieces she needed to enter into the index and properly store away. 

Anya angrily scribbled notes on a notepad to take back to the index, thinking of the way Dmitry effortlessly taunted her. It irritated her that he hand-delivered jabs with a charming smile. 

Her pencil broke and she realized she had been pressing too hard on the notepad. 

Anya groaned and her mind snapped back to the basement. She tossed the pencil onto the desk with the notepad and rubbed her temple as he head pounded with a dull headache. The lack of sleep over this situation was starting to get to her. 

She checked her watch and realized it was later than she had thought. It was time to stop for the evening.

* * *

Anya sat on the sofa in the apartment her older sister, Olga, and her husband, Pyotr, shared. She replayed her interaction with Dmitry over and over in her mind. Her feet kicked up on the coffee table still in heels while Olga paced in the kitchen. 

It had been nine days since she had been to the bar. Not that she was counting. (She was.)

She wondered if there was something she was missing. Was it all in jest that he even said he could help her? Should she not have expected him to even call her at all?

Usually, she would brush this off. She got false leads all the time or made connections that didn’t turn out to be as fruitful as she had hoped. It was the smug look on Dmitry’s face that bothered her so much. He was sure he knew what she needed, and in the same swing she was sure he was prepared to withhold that information from her if it gave him even the slightest bit of pleasure. 

“Nastya, why did you come here if you weren’t going to speak to me?” Olga asked as she stared at her sister. 

Anya clenched her jaw as she stared at the wall. 

“You could brood in your own apartment so Pyotr and I can watch the show we had saved,” Olga suggested. 

“Because I don’t want to be alone,” Anya replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

Olga let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. As the oldest of five siblings, Olga often felt more like the mother of her younger siblings than she did their sister. She walked into the living room and lifted Anya’s legs off the coffee table and dropped them on the floor. “You would never believe Mamma raised you,” Olga muttered with a sigh. 

“Mamma can’t take any credit for me,” Anya replied. “I was all Papa.”

“It shows,” Olga retorted. She shook her head, “it’s no wonder Mamma watched Alyosha twice as hard. She didn’t want him to turn out like you.”

Anya stuck her tongue out at her sister. 

“Can you please brood in my bedroom or the kitchen?” Olga asked. “Or anywhere but my sofa in front of my TV?”

“Liubimaya,” Pyotr interjected as he gently approached Olga. 

“Just a minute,” Olga replied quickly. “Nastya is just being dramatic.”

“Ouch, Olya,” Anya called nonchalantly from the sofa. 

Olga rolled her eyes and turned to Pyotr. Pyotr raised his eyebrows as if to say he wasn’t playing referee between the sisters. He went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

Olga stood in the living room with her arms crossed, glaring at Anya. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Anya grumbled as she pulled herself off the sofa.

Olga swallowed hard as she watched Anya straighten out and smooth her outfit. 

“You can stay and watch with us, you just can’t occupy the entire sofa,” Olga backtracked and tried to make amends with Anya. 

“No, I have some things to do,” Anya mumbled as she crossed the apartment and headed for the door.

“Nastya, it’s nine o’clock,” Olga said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Anya turned back to look at her sister as she opened the front door. “I know.”

As Anya stepped over the threshold, Olga hurried to stop her. 

Anya walked down the hall without looking back, and Olga leaned out the door, stopping herself from stepping out without proper shoes on. 

Olga’s lips parted as she watched Anya disappear, and she clamped her jaw shut. She turned back into the apartment and shut the door behind her. 

Pyotr gently touched her arm and she turned to look at him with a sigh. 

Anya stepped out of the elevator and waved to the doorman as she exited onto the street. He watched her leave with his brow knit.

* * *

Anya sat on the floor of her apartment and stared at her bookshelf, silently cursing herself for not being able to do this on her own. She was used to being independent, getting things on the first try, and excelling in all she attempted. 

This situation was out of her area of expertise and it was slowly driving her insane. 

The unidentified piece was consuming her thoughts at all hours of the day. She should know where this piece came from, and she should not have to rely on a West Village bartender to help her with something she got a degree in. 

Anya thumbed through the titles on her shelf, as if she didn’t have her own collection memorized. The only old textbook she had kept from university was an art history book. She had read the book cover to cover while she was in the course, and very well knew it didn’t contain the information she was looking for. But she pulled it off the shelf anyway. 

She flipped through the pages only because she knew it would make her feel like she was trying. Anya carried the book over to the armchair in the room and curled up into it as her eyes were glued to the pages. She didn’t want to leave a stone unturned and her assistance from Dmitry was now looking bleak. 

There were motifs that were familiar but she didn’t know pottery technique well enough to know where to place it in eras. She could estimate, but she knew it would never make it to an exhibit if she didn’t have it pinned down exactly. 

Her vision grew blurry as she stared too hard at a page, illuminated only by a single reading lamp by her chair. Her focus had shifted from looking for trends and motifs to looking at the visual media pieces. This is why she didn’t specialize in ceramics in the first place. 

Anya shifted the book in her lap, not realizing how sore her legs had gotten from sitting crunched in her armchair. She looked across her apartment at the clock. It was well past midnight. 

She lifted the book and uncurled her legs. She hadn’t realized how exhausted her body had grown. Nothing could quite lull her mind like an art history textbook. 

She snapped the book shut and returned it to her shelf, not any wiser than she was before she pulled the book down. 

Anya knew any sane person would send the piece to storage until they hired an expert who could handle the piece. But she wasn’t exactly known for keeping her nose down and following rules and expectations.

* * *

Anya diligently took notes as she updated the archive index. She had lost track of time in the meticulous process of writing the information from the tag down and entering it into the Museum’s index, and marking any additional notes. 

From standing hunched over a record book for hours, she straightened her back and found it ached horribly from standing with bad posture. She stood up straight and stretched her back and in doing so realized how sore her feet were from her heels. Anya let out a groan and her shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh. 

Anya glanced at her watch—8:55 p.m. It was easy for the hours to slip by when she was in the basement with no windows and no clock. The phone in the basement rang and Anya started and turned over her shoulder.

Ignoring the fact that this phone had now rung twice in two weeks, which was more than it had rung in her entire five year career with the museum, Anya rushed to grab it with a slight skip in her step.

She tucked the receiver in her shoulder as she bent down to slip her feet out of her heels. She twisted around, the cord of the phone wrapping around her. Her brow knit as she struggled to slip her foot out. 

“Hello? Anya?” a voice came over the receiver. 

She grabbed the receiver from her shoulder, her heart pounding in her chest. She straightened out and spun around, detangling herself from the cord. The voice on the other end of the receiver was deep and rich, and the way he enunciated her name, Anya recognized his voice immediately— 

“Dmitry?” 


	3. An Old Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can have a little Dmitry, as a treat. :)

Anya got out of a cab several blocks away from the address Dmitry had given her. She shut the door to the cab and stood on the curb for a moment as the car drove off. She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked quickly to a small, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.

Her brow knit as she walked, deep in thought, and her lips pursed as she thought of how he refused to tell her what he needed to say over the phone. Dmitry’s voice was so smooth over the phone, he had the natural richness in his voice that could convince anyone to do anything—and he knew it too. It had to be why he was so good at his job. He insisted on meeting at this coffee shop, rather than talking on the phone after hours. 

There were two things Anya knew about Dmitry: he had an otherwise unexplained extensive knowledge of ceramics and he seemed to be quite the beverage enthusiast. 

Anya sighed as she pulled the door to the cafe open and stepped inside. She looked around for a moment, unsure she would recognize his surly stature in daylight hours. There was no sign of him. 

Anya felt horribly out of place in a pressed dress and heels, when most of the clientele in the shop sported jeans and upcycled vintage clothing. She paused for a moment, grounding herself as she bit her lip. 

With a sigh, Anya took a seat at a table so she was not standing awkwardly in the middle of the shop, where she felt eyes watching her. She sat her purse in her lap and clutched it as she waited. 

She checked her notes again to make sure she had the time right. Five minutes passed. And then ten. And Dmitry was nowhere to be seen. 

The door to the shop opened and shut and Dmitry took his sunglasses off and stepped inside, seemingly unconcerned he was late. Anya hated that.

He glanced around the shop for a moment before checking his watch. Dmitry spotted her and slid into a chair at the table she had been forced to choose while she waited.

“You’re late,” Anya said curtly. She had little patience for his lofty persona. 

“I believe what you mean to say is, ‘thank you for waking up before noon when you closed at 3 a.m. after your shift,’” Dmitry replied as he tossed photos across the table to her. 

Anya rolled her eyes and reached across the table to grab them, but before she could, Dmitry snatched them back. 

“Not so fast,” he laughed. 

Anya groaned and folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in her chair. 

“So these photos actually show some detailing I wanted to show you,” Dmitry shuffled through the photos and placed them on the table, turning them to Anya so she could see them. “This style was popular in the eighteenth century, which gives me the strong indication of the period of time. I’d estimate around the later end, 1750 or beyond I would say, based on these markings around the bottom.

Anya nodded as she examined the photos and thought to which display that might correspond. 

“The varnish on it indicates to me that it’s likely European, I don’t know if that matches up to anything you’ve been looking at,” Dmitry replied as he traced his finger over the photos. “The markings near the neck of the pot are making me think something Dutch, but it’s been a long time.”

Anya nodded. She stared at the photos for a moment, Dmitry’s analysis sinking in. 

“Without actually seeing the piece I can’t say for sure,” Dmitry shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. 

Anya nodded as she picked the photos up and looked at them. “It’s a good lead,” she shrugged as she placed them back on the table between them. 

“Can’t believe you needed a ceramics expert to tell you that,” Dmitry laughed. 

“Excuse me,” Anya snapped. “My specialization is in visual media and fine art.”

“The style would be similar, I would think,” he teased. “But maybe your Ivy League school didn’t teach you that.”

Anya frowned. 

Dmitry smirked as he pushed the photos back across the table to her.

Anya took them back and dropped them in her purse. 

“I think with that, the transaction is complete, unless you need something else?” Dmitry asked. 

“No, I think you’ve done enough, thank you,” Anya replied coldly. 

Dmitry nodded. He tapped the table and stood up, digging his wallet from his pocket and getting in line to order a coffee. 

Anya watched him for just a moment longer. Dmitry chatted with the woman taking orders as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. He appeared to be a regular here. He was strange in a way she couldn’t place her finger on. 

As his order was placed on the counter, he grabbed it and waved to the staff behind the counter as he turned to leave. Anya swallowed hard and got in line to get a coffee. She was already here and it would be a long cab ride back to the museum at this hour.

* * *

What had seemed like a good idea approximately two hours earlier didn’t seem like such a good idea now that it was sitting on the table in front of her. 

Anya stood in her apartment at her kitchen table, staring at the box with a honey cake she had purchased as a token of her appreciation. She really should thank Dmitry for his help, even though he was a pain about the entire situation. 

She knew, however, he would likely see the dessert as a false gesture. 

Anya shook her head and paced around the apartment. It now seemed silly, she had already purchased the cake, she might as well give it to him.

A knock on the door startled her and she answered it to find her older sister, Maria, on the other side with takeout boxes. 

“Can you open the door?” Maria said quickly. “My hands are full.”

Anya opened the door and stood out of the way as Maria stepped into the apartment and carried the food to the kitchen. She dropped bags on the counter and shook her hands out, grumbling about how she had carried it ten blocks. 

Maria let out a sigh and paused as the cake caught her eye. 

“What’s this?” Maria asked as she approached the box. She peeked in the small window on the box and carefully lifted the lid to look inside. 

Anya twisted her hands as she hovered nearby. She watched Maria open the box. “Oh,” Anya said quickly. “It’s for work.”

“Work?” Maria asked as she stared at the cake. She picked up the card on the table next to the cake, addressed with Anya’s handwriting. “Dmitry,” Maria read. “Who’s Dmitry?” 

Maria turned to look at Anya as she gently fanned herself with the card in the envelope. 

Anya snatched the card from her sister’s hand, “No one.”

“Nastya,” Maria smiled. 

“No one that you need to know about,” Anya corrected as she looked down at the card. Perhaps she had put a little too much care into how she wrote his name. 

“Solnyshka!” Maria cried as she tried to grab the card back. 

“It’s a client!” Anya cried as she took a step back and held the card out of her sister’s reach. “It’s a work client.”

“A work client,” Maria smiled. “I didn’t know the Met had clients.”

“He helped me with a project,” Anya added as she tucked the card back with the cake box. “I just felt it was the right thing to do to show him my appreciation.”

“Mhm,” Maria agreed as she eyed the cake. “And you get Medovik from the best bakery in the city for all your clients?” 

“He’s an old friend of Lily’s, it’s the least I can do,” Anya clarified as she walked into the kitchen. “End of discussion.”

“Does Lily know?” Maria smiled as her fingers pried at the card in the box. 

“I said end of discussion!” Anya replied. “Dinner is going to get cold.”

Maria pursed her lips as she tucked her hands behind her back, leaving the box alone. She rounded Anya as she walked into the kitchen. 

Anya handed her a bag and Maria unpacked the to-go containers and grabbed plates from the cabinets. 

Maria prepared her plate and walked across the apartment to the sofa and turned the TV on. She plopped down and began to eat as Anya prepared her plate. 

Anya arranged her plate and stacked her fork onto it as she balanced her plate and grabbed her phone. She sat down next to Maria and began to eat. 

Anya shot a quick text to Lily asking if she knew Dmitry’s personal address. Her phone buzzed and she grabbed it. 

_Last address of his I knew was this one in Brooklyn._

Anya thanked her. 

Maria sat beside her, unaware, with her legs curled to her chest and her eyes glued on the TV.

* * *

The cab came to a halt in a neighborhood Anya wasn’t so familiar with and she looked down at her phone to check the map. The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror as her hand lingered on the door handle for a moment. 

Anya carefully got out of a cab and lifted the cake with her. 

“You know where you’re goin’ Miss?” The driver asked as she shut the door. 

“Yes, I’ll be alright, thank you,” Anya smiled. She managed the cake as she fixed her purse on her shoulder. 

“This street’s not the best, do you want me to wait a moment?”

“No that’s alright,” Anya replied. 

The driver waved before driving off. 

Anya stood on the street corner and held the cake in one arm while staring at the directions on her phone. 

The address Lily had given her seemed to point to a place off a back alley. She looked at her phone and then looked up. Her heart started to race and she tried to make out exactly what her map was pointing to. 

Swallowing hard, she decided she was going to have to just walk down the alley to see for herself. She could hear Olga nagging in her mind about how stupid this was of her. 

Anya grit her teeth to push her thoughts aside. 

She reached a door in the back alley that was unmarked except for a makeshift address that had been hung on the door. Anya took a step back and looked at the door. It seemed like it might lead to some sort of apartment. There was a callbox by the door that Anya wasn’t sure she trusted to try. She rang what she thought was a bell for the place and waited. 

Every second that passed she felt more like she should turn around and go back. 

There was no answer. She wasn’t sure that the buzzer worked. 

Anya squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hand into a fist to knock on the door. 

Her heart raced as she heard movement on the other side and for a moment she wanted to run. She regretted not telling Maria where she had gone this afternoon. Perhaps there was still time to text her the address. 

She jumped at the sound of latches being opened on the other side of the door and the door cracked open with a definitive tug on the other side. 

Anya found herself face to face with Dmitry. She was at a loss for words and he was too. 

His brown eyes were wide as he stared at her and she could tell he had to be running through all the scenarios that would lead her to his doorstep. 

“Hi,” Anya broke the silence and shock between them. 

His shoulders relaxed and he shifted his weight to lean against the doorframe. 

“Can I help you?” He asked. “Got another piece of work for me?”

“No! No,” Anya replied quickly. “I wanted to thank you, for what you did for me.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he laughed. “But if it helps you sleep at night.”

He pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped aside. 

“I brought this for you, as a thank you,” Anya replied as she stuck the cake out in front of her and scrunched her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

Dmitry was quiet for a moment. 

“Is that Medovik?” he asked. 

Anya nodded. 

“It’s been ages,” he laughed softly as he looked down at the cake through the box. There was a wash of nostalgia over his face as he stared a moment longer. 

Anya was still for a moment longer. She honestly hadn’t imagined getting to this point in a civil manner. 

“Would you like to come in?” Dmitry offered. 

Anya let out a sigh and her shoulders relaxed. “Sure,” she said softly. “I came all this way to deliver this, and the driver who dropped me off looked at me like he was taking note in case he saw me on the news for being murdered tonight. What do I have to lose?” 

Dmitry laughed as he held the door open for her. “Well, you’d have to voluntarily spend time with me,” he replied.

Anya’s lip curled into a smile as she looked at him. “Like I said, what do I have to lose?”

Dmitry arched his brow and held the door as she stepped inside. 

Dmitry took the cake from Anya and led her inside. He walked across the studio and took the cake to what Anya presumed was the established kitchen area of the apartment. 

As Anya stepped into the studio, she was immediately caught up by the art that lined shelves built into the walls of the studio. He walked in as if he didn’t even notice them at all. 

Anya paused and looked around. As an art curator, her senses brough questions to mind. As a loose acquaintance of Dmitry’s, she had about a hundred more questions for him. 

“Dmitry, what are all these?” Anya asked. 

“What are… what?” He asked as he turned back to look at her. 

She stood by a shelf lined with ceramic pots and vases, her fingers delicately tracing over one of the pieces. “These pieces! What are they and where did they come from?” Anya asked with a soft laugh escaping from her disbelief. 

“Oh those?” Dmitry followed her line of vision. “They’re old pieces of mine.”

“You made them?” Anya asked. She was a little bit surprised. 

“Yeah I made everything on those shelves,” Dmitry shrugged. 

“I–” Anya began, but she was at a loss for words. 

“You didn’t think when you were referred to me that I was an actual ceramic artist?” He smirked and turned over his shoulder to look at Anya. 

Her jaw hung open as he took the words out of her mouth. 

“I wouldn’t call myself an artist either,” a soft laugh escaped his lips and he crossed his arms. “Not anymore, anyway.”

Anya walked over to a shelf and ran her fingers over the detailing on a ceramic vase. “I can’t believe—” she began. 

“That I could make that?” Dmitry teased. 

He was so harsh and jagged in his exterior it would be hard for anyone to believe he even had a softer side. Anya traced the detailing, remembering the way his fingers had traced over the detailing in her photos. 

“Why did you stop?” Anya asked as she turned to look at him. 

Dmitry laughed as he shrugged, “I was driving myself insane trying to make a living. No one was buying.”

“I can’t believe that,” Anya shook her head. 

“Well,” he shrugged. “I was tired of starving.”

“You just gave up?” Anya retorted as she looked at him. 

“It wasn’t working for me anymore,” Dmitry replied coldly. “Sometimes you have to know when it’s over.”

"But if you’re so talented!” Anya replied. She took a step toward him as she crossed the apartment. “If you love something—“

“–you have to know when to let go.” Dmitry interrupted. 

There was a beat between them. Anya eyed him carefully. A dimple deepened in his cheek as he clenched his jaw. 

Dmitry sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s fine. It was a different part of my life.”

“But do you miss it?” Anya asked. 

She heard him inhale sharply as he wedged his hand into his pocket. His eyes cast to the unfinished floorboard of his apartment. 

“It’s in the past now,” he said softly. 

“You can still miss it,” Anya replied. 

He let out an exasperated sigh, “despite the struggle, yeah, I do miss it.”

Anya’s lips parted and she had more things she wanted to ask, more things she wanted to know.

“What if you just knew the right people?” Anya asked. “People who could help you—”

“Anya, that chapter of my life is closed,” Dmitry replied coldly. 

“It doesn’t seem closed,” Anya spat back at him. 

She was like an ember that couldn’t seem to die. 

“Look at this place!” Anya cried, “and look at you.”

“Anya–” Dmitry warned.

“You live in a place lined with the skeletons of your past,” Anya scoffed. “You can’t tell me you’re done.”

“What was I supposed to do with all the pieces that never sold?” Dmitry spat back. “I put hours and days into these pieces, I crafted each one with my own hands, I couldn’t just get rid of them! So I got out of my lease and I moved into my studio.”

“So you just dwell in this closed chapter,” Anya crossed her arms. She shifted her weight as she glared at him. “I thought you were different, Dmitry. I thought you were proud, but you’re just running from what you can’t face.” 

Dmitry’s brow knit. His eyes cast away as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Get out, Anya.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I said get out,” Dmitry spat. “I didn’t invite you in with your stupid pleasantries to be insulted.”

Anya’s jaw hung open as she stared at him. Her heart raced and she felt her ears burn with embarrassment. 

“Fine,” Anya replied. “I hadn’t planned to stay anyway.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder and turned on her heel. With a little struggle at the door, she pulled it open and walked out onto the back alley. The door slammed shut behind her and Dmitry let out a sigh. 

He latched the door shut and stood against it for a moment. 

His hand rubbed the back of his neck and his eyes fixed on the pieces that lined the walls and then followed down to where his wheel was sitting, an old sheet covering it to keep the dust off of it.

He walked across the studio and paused by the wheel. His fingers played with the edge of the sheet as he was deep in thought. 

Dmitry gently pulled the sheet off the wheel and stared at it for a moment. It had been years since he had sat down here. 

He pulled his stool out and took a seat, running his fingers through his hair as he stared at the wheel, Anya's words replaying over and over in his mind. His jaw clenched, thinking of the way her face looked as she accused him without even knowing the whole story. It was making his skin crawl. 

Years ago, he used to sit here for hours, late into the night, hands shaping and crafting clay pieces with care and intention. The hours would slip away, and sometimes he would only be dragged out of the studio by his roommate coming down and letting him know he was going out drinking. 

Dmitry flipped the switch and the wheel started spinning. The slight whirl of motion was so familiar it was as if he had been pulled back in time. 

He flipped it off and stared blankly at the wheel for a moment. 

His fingers lingered on the switch and he flipped it on again, watching it spin around. His heart pounded in his chest, knowing he could tell Anya many times over that he was done making ceramic pieces, but he was only saying it until he believed it himself.

The wheel spun around and the hum sent a chill down his spin, taking him back in time. 

He flipped the switch off and the wheel came to a stop. It’s mere existence was like having a ghost living in his apartment. Dmitry sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to even look if he had any spare clay in his cabinet. 

He stood up and paced around the apartment, running his fingers through his hair. He sat on the mattress in the corner of the studio and stared across the room at the wheel. 

Dmitry buried his face in his hands as he thought. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands and slowly rose to his feet. 

It was like Anya had opened a closet and dusted the skeletons off in the process. 

His brow knit and he walked across the studio to pick the sheet up off the floor. He carefully covered the wheel, and fixed the sheet as if covering it would make it go away. 

Dmitry dusted his hands off and turned back to look at the wheel. If it was covered he could pretend it wasn’t there. 

He walked across the room where he had left the cake Anya had brought. Medovik was his favorite, but he refused to even taste it out of spite. 

With a sigh, he sat on his mattress and hung his head in his hands. Anya had pulled something out of him that he hadn’t seen in himself in years, and he wanted to shove it right back where it had been hiding all this time. 


	4. A Piece of Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You must reach Chapter 4 to unlock a Tragic Backstory™

At 7pm on a Thursday evening, Anya and Maria stepped out of a taxi on the Upper West Side just a block from a restaurant address Lily had given them. 

Anya linked her arm through Maria’s as they walked together. She was better at faking the persona she was expected to have among their social circles with Maria by her side. 

Maria squeezed her arm as they walked and led her into the restaurant. She gave the hostess Lily’s name, and Anya and Maria were led back to a booth in the corner of the dining room. Lily was sitting alone with an empty wine glass and tasteful half-empty bottle of wine. 

Anya caught Lily’s attention and leaned in to kiss her cheek. She slid into the booth and Maria gave Lily a kiss on the cheek and sat beside Anya. Anya smoothed her skirt and scooted in so Maria could sit comfortably. 

“You both look lovely,” Lily smiled. “How is my dear Nicky?”

Anya smiled as she blushed. “Papa is well. And before you ask— Mamma is lively as ever.”

Lily clicked her tongue and shook her head. 

Maria clasped her hand to her mouth as she tried not to laugh. Lily and Alix had never been terribly fond of each other. 

Anya shook her head.

“Let’s not dwell!” Lily clasped her hands together. “Drinks? Should I get another bottle of wine?”

“Do you need one?” Maria teased. 

“Mashka, you make me ashamed to be Russian,” Lily said quickly as she looked down into her empty glass and looked around for a waiter. 

Maria laughed, “Get a bottle for the table then!”

Anya smiled. Lily had always been quite a character in their lives. After Lily was satisfied by a bottle of wine for the table, she settled in with Anya and Maria. 

“Oh, thank you, Lily, for your help with that project,” Anya said softly. 

“Of course, Darling!” Lily waved her off. “I’m just surprised he actually called you.”

Anya’s brow knit as she looked at Lily. Lily swirled her glass around, unaware. 

“Why would that be?” Anya asked. “You said he was your contact for ceramic art.”

“He was,” Lily nodded. “Many years ago now. He’s usually not so willing.”

She took a long drink from her glass. 

“He wasn’t very willing at all,” Anya laughed. 

“I knew he’d come around eventually.” Lily waved her off. “You’re a smart girl, Nastya, you’re too stubborn to let things go. He’s stubborn too, always has been.”

Maria sipped quietly on wine as she listened, trying to conceal her smile. 

Anya’s eyes flicked to Maria as if to give her a warning not to say anything. 

“Did she tell you she bought him Medovik as a thank you gift?” Maria interjected. 

Lily looked across the table at Anya, and gripped her wine glass. “Oh Nastya,” she clicked her tongue. “Nastya, what have I told you?”

“I thought it would be a nice gesture,” Anya defended herself. “He seemed inconvenienced by the whole ordeal!” 

“Nastya, gifts like that mean nothing to men,” Lily clicked her tongue. 

“Well, I’m not trying to marry him!” Anya retorted. She fixed the napkin in her lap to keep her hands busy. “I just wanted to thank him for his help. He seemed grateful at the time! He said something about how Medovik brought back a memory or something.”

Anya’s shoulders dropped. 

Maria shook her head as she sipped her wine. Lily set her wine glass down and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. 

“It’s not like that!” Anya snapped. 

Maria arched her brow. Lily smirked. 

“I was just being kind, which he rejected anyway,” Anya added. “So I think it’s sealed.”

Lily nodded. Maria quickly changed the subject.

Anya felt her cheeks burn with her own embarrassment. She sipped on her wine as Maria chatted lightly with Lily. 

The rest of their meal was rather uneventful, but Anya’s mind lingered on how Lily seemed to know too much about Dmitry, while passing off that she knew nothing at all. Anya’s brow knit as she fell deep into thought. 

“Dessert, Nastya?” Maria said sharply. 

Anya snapped to. She didn’t know how many times Maria had asked but she guessed by the harsh tone of her voice it was more than once. 

“No, I’m fine,” Anya replied sheepishly. 

Lily nodded. The girls said goodnight to Lily, and headed home for the night. 

“Did Lily seem like she knew Dmitry?” Anya asked as they nodded to the doorman. 

“You said he was her contact for work, didn’t you?” Maria replied as they stood in the elevator and rode up to the apartment. “I would assume she does, in that case.”

“No, no, I know,” Anya said quickly as she squeezed her eyes shut. “She just seemed to, you know, actually know him. When would Lily make an effort to remember a man’s name unless he meant something to her?”

Maria shrugged, “You met him, didn’t you? What did you think of him?”

“He was young,” Anya replied. “Not more than thirty.”

Maria smirked as she tried to choke down her own laughter. “You never can be too sure with Lily.”

Anya caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror in the elevator, hoping her face hadn’t flushed when Maria had asked. 

The elevator reached their floor and Maria stepped out. Anya stole a second glance in the mirror and hurried to catch up with her sister.

* * *

A sharp knock on the door pulled Dmitry out of his own thoughts. He had combed his fingers through his hair after pacing around his apartment and sitting on the bed to calm his nerves. 

With a groan he pulled himself to his feet and answered the door to find Vlad, his old friend and former roommate, patiently waiting for him. 

There was a beat between them as Vlad smiled warmly and readjusted the parcel in his hand. 

Without an exchange of words, Dmitry pushed the door open wide enough and gestured to Vlad to come inside. 

Vlad took a look around the apartment, and with a soft sigh his shoulders dropped. He spotted the wheel in the corner of the room. Dmitry had dropped the sheet that had covered it for so many years on the floor. He was more serious about this than Vlad had thought. 

Vlad hadn’t asked many questions when Dmitry sent him a message asking for Lily’s help. Their friendship was strong because the two of them knew how to keep their noses in line and mind their own business. It had made them wonderful roommates years ago. But the question lingered in Vlad’s mind as to why now, after his passion for the craft had died out many years ago. 

“Here is your favor,” Vlad smirked as he offered the package to Dmitry. 

He took the parcel from Vlad, “don’t say it like that.” 

Vlad let out a soft laugh as Dmitry set the parcel on the table and peeled the string and paper away. 

Dmitry stared at the block of clay on the table. Vlad pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and the two men stared at it for a moment. There was a thickness in the air between them as if they had been taken back in time. Vlad could remember standing in this very place several years ago. 

Dmitry had been younger then. He didn’t hunch his shoulders as much. His hair was a bit longer and a bit messier. There was a spark in his eye Vlad had always admired. Little did he know a few years on it would quickly be extinguished after long nights of working on lifeless pieces and losing sleep over not being able to pay bills. 

Vlad was younger, too. Though his permanent residence was in an apartment in Brooklyn with Dmitry, he was often found masquerading in the social circles of the Upper East Side. Vlad had admired Dmitry’s hard work and ambition back then. He had found himself deeply involved with the daughter of a politician and was riding the coattails of that wherever it might take him. 

“It’s been quite some time,” Vlad mused. “I must admit I was a bit out of practice myself. Lily is not so easy to talk into doing things these days.”

Dmitry nodded and touched the clay to sample the texture. He looked down at his fingers and rubbed them together. 

“I’m surprised Lily thinks of me at all,” Dmitry replied. “I think I was just a pawn in her way of getting to you.”

Vlad’s lip turned up into a smile. He admired Dmitry’s brutal honesty.

“She’s changed,” Vlad replied. “She’s retired now, her godchildren are grown, she’s lost her closest friend. She muses that a worthwhile life is not one that is wasted.”

Dmitry swallowed hard. He looked at the very block of clay that stood like a barrier between him and a meaningful life. He inhaled sharply, pulling his eyes away from the clay. 

“Lily has godchildren?” He asked as he turned to look at Vlad. “She’s a bit reckless to be put in charge of that, don’t you think?”

“Her role was much smaller when they were young,” Vlad replied. “She didn’t worry so much, they had parents and a grandmother who loved them very much. She made brief appearances at their family gatherings and occasionally took them out as a treat.”

Dmitry’s brow knit. His shoulders hunched and his hands settled into his hips as he looked back at the block of clay. His thoughts wandered as he stared off to the shelves in his apartment that were lined with his old pieces. 

Vlad walked through the apartment to the kitchen. “What’s this?”

Dmitry turned over his shoulder to follow Vlad’s line of vision. “Oh, it’s Medovik,” Dmitry pulled at his sleeves to roll them up. 

“Your favorite?” Vlad looked back at him and his brow arched. “From the best bakery in the city?”

“It was a gift,” Dmitry replied. His brow knit as he struggled with his sleeve. 

“Who in your life is bringing you Medovik from the best bakery on the Upper East Side?” Vlad asked. 

Dmitry looked up from his sleeve at Vlad. “Some girl who works at the Met brought it over as a thank you for helping her with some ceramic art.” 

Vlad let out a small hmph and lifted the lid of the box to see a single spot where the icing had been touched. 

“And that’s why you sampled the icing but haven’t bothered with the rest?”

“No,” Dmitry protested. “She was rude.”

Vlad looked at him. 

“She suggested that I just gave up on my art,” Dmitry replied coldly. 

He felt like he was throwing a schoolyard tantrum. But it was justified. She was rude. She came into his home and insulted his ambition. 

“Sounds like she saw something in you that you haven’t seen in yourself,” Vlad said softly. He gently closed the lid. 

Dmitry paused and grit his teeth. He didn’t like when Vlad tried to justify things to him or use logic and reasoning with him. 

“I wasn’t going to eat it anyway,” Dmitry finally broke his silence. “I’m not going to be fooled by some cake.”

“We weren’t talking about the cake, we were talking about the girl,” Vlad gently reminded him. 

Dmitry grit his teeth. Vlad had backed him into a corner. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Right, and that’s why you asked me to get this clay from the supply shop Lily has a contact at?” Vlad arched his brow. “You wanted to try this again but it has nothing to do with the girl?”

“That’s right,” Dmitry replied bitterly. “You can take the cake if you want. I’m sure you and Lily would enjoy it more.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Vlad refused. “Lily said the pleasure was hers for the clay. But you should think about it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dmitry replied. His brow knit. 

“Think about it,” Vlad said softly as he crossed the apartment. He walked across the apartment, and turned back to look at Dmitry at the door. Dmitry’s brow had softened when he thought Vlad wasn’t looking. 

Vlad walked out and respectfully shut the door behind him. 

Dmitry turned back over his shoulder to look. He turned back to look at the block of clay on the table. 

Part of him wanted to grab a piece and throw it down and try. Another part of him was afraid of opening the door to something he had kept so tightly sealed for so many years. 

As he stared at the block of clay he had so desperately requested Lily get for him from her old acquaintance who owned an art supply shop in Harlem, there was an itching in his fingers to turn back time and take his old place at his wheel. Lily repeatedly told him she didn’t see the difference in the clay he bought, but Dmitry assured her it was the quality of materials. 

Lily always shook her head. Dmitry knew he was right, but he gladly accepted it as pay off for sharing a bedroom wall with Vlad. He smirked as he thought of the days where Vlad and Lily thought they were sneaking around. They really were not discreet at all, he just pretended not to listen. 

With a heavy sigh he ran his fingers through his hair as he stared at the wheel that had become an ornament of his past in the room. Walls lined with ceramic pieces glared at him as if this was no longer his place. 

Determined, he set up his station. 

He took a seat on his stool, a block of clay in hand. He threw the clay down and it fell off center. His brow knit and he peeled it up, trying again. He threw down and still missed center. It seemed he had lost his touch with time. 

But the third time was the charm—or rather he knew not to force it and cheated the clay into the center with his fingers. 

He turned the wheel on and at first it felt like it was spinning too fast— like he couldn’t possibly keep up. It had been longer than he’d remembered. 

For a moment he watched it spin around and around on the wheel. It felt as plainly out of control as his life had become. He, too, let external factors propel him and sat complacent in his own life, like the lump of clay spinning in front of him. Just waiting for someone to shape it into its next form. 

He wasn’t always this way. 

Dmitry was once an artist who took great pride in his work, and used such careful technique to craft his pieces. It was an act of love, the way his thumbs and fingers pressed into the clay to create a piece that was entirely its own. 

He watched the clay spin around once more and decided he was going to have to jump in and do something at some point. He wet his hands and reached down, holding the clay just to barely shape it. 

As his fingertips grazed over the clay he closed his eyes. This used to be the place that had made him the happiest—until it brought pain and broken promises. 

He pressed his thumb into the center of the clay to start a curve and watched as his hands came into control once again. This was his piece and he was going to make it what he wanted it to be. 

There was a certain comfort to taking his old place, his legs straddling his wheel and his shoulders hunched as he worked at minute details on his piece. He bit his lip as he concentrated, shaping the piece with great care. 

The gentle hum of the wheel was like listening to an old song. He pressed and pulled and ran his fingers over the clay to get it just the shape he wanted. 

And he was hit with a wave that felt like he had the wind knocked out of him all over again, remembering trying to get his work into galleries and trying to sell pieces and get into circles where he could get commissioned. 

His fingers shaped the clay into a vase. He loved being able to make each one unique and a genuine piece from the heart. 

As he carefully shaped the neck of the vase, his blood began to boil with his anger and frustration with the art industry. He had lost the one thing he loved because he had let people determine his value. No one wanted humble pieces from a poor boy in Brooklyn. There wasn’t enough glamour and drama behind the work. 

Suddenly he was blinded by his own anger. He couldn’t separate the joy of creating from his frustrations with the industry. 

He took his fist and pounded the vase he had so diligently created into a pile of scrap clay. Anya had caught him off guard, but she was still part of the industry that broke his heart. He didn’t want to be fooled by the art industry packaged as a pretty girl with brilliant blue eyes.

* * *

Late one afternoon, Anya walked through the museum, wandering through one of the ceramics exhibits on her way to the basement. 

Almost as if she had imagined him, she spotted a lanky man sitting on a bench in the ceramics exhibit as guests bustled around him. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he sat, staring at one of the displays. 

It was like an accidental work of art— the contrast of his stillness surrounded by guests moving quickly past him through the exhibit. She almost wasn’t sure he was there at all. 

Anya paused, deciding whether or not she should approach him. She was certain it was him, as out of place as he might be. 

As a museum employee, she felt obligated to be cordial even though their last encounter had ended rather poorly. 

Anya approached the bench where he was sitting. “Dmitry?”

He looked up at her, somewhat in his own disbelief that in a museum so large, in a city so large, they could manage to run into each other. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. 

“I’ve heard a lot about the ceramics exhibits here,” he replied. He rose to his feet and straightened out his tall stature. 

Anya wrung her hands as she looked up at him. He had a good foot on her when he was standing straight. 

“You have?” Anya smiled coyly. 

A soft laugh escaped Dmitry’s lips and his hand rose to the back of his neck. “I was just looking for some inspiration,” he confessed. 

“So you thought about it?” Anya asked. 

Dmitry nodded, “yeah.”

Anya smiled as she cast her eyes away from him. She turned to look at the display he had been so focused on before she interrupted him. It wasn’t her place to make sense of what exactly he was looking for, but he had come here for a reason.

Dmitry smiled and shook his head. She didn’t need to say she was right, he already knew. “But only because I realized making drinks has a repetitive nature with no joy. People don’t appreciate it, they just want to get drunk. Pottery at least has the joy of being able to look at a piece and know you put your heart into it.”

Anya smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. Let me know if you need any help, I’d be happy to point you in the right direction.”

She took a step away, knowing she had likely taken up more of his time than he would like. Anya turned to continue down the hall, as a silent goodbye.

“You should give me a private tour sometime,” Dmitry replied, reeling her back in.

Anya turned back to look at him as she processed his suggestion. 

Dmitry smiled at her and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Anya returned a smile, “that would require you to voluntarily spend time with me.” 

“I know,” he nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Anya smiled and cast her eyes away. She looked down at her watch and bit her lip. “I get off at four, do you want to meet me in the cafe for some coffee? You came all this way to this side of the city.”

There was a spark in Dmitry’s eye as he nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“I’ll see you then,” Anya offered a shy smile as she turned and continued down the hall.

* * *

Dmitry sat at a table in the cafe, gazing out the window as he waited for Anya. It was starting to rain outside, and something about the looming clouds in the sky was comforting. It felt oddly metaphorical, like the rain before a rainbow.

Anya walked quickly into the cafe, her heels on the linoleum floor catching his attention. “Thank you for waiting, I had to finish something,” Anya said quickly as she took a seat. She was out of breath, Dmitry presumed this was from walking quickly through the museum.

“No problem,” Dmitry replied. “I have nothing but time.”

There was a thickness in the air between them, neither of them quite sure what to say to the other. Anya was quiet as she caught her breath. 

Anya excused herself to grab a coffee from the cafe, and returned with two cups. “I left it black, I’m not sure how you take it,” she said sheepishly. 

“That’s fine,” Dmitry said softly. “Thanks.”

Anya settled back into her seat as she stirred sugar into her coffee. She was focused on stirring and tasting, and something in her face seemed to know that no amount of sugar would improve the taste of the coffee.

Dmitry stared into his cup as his brow knit. “I, er–” Dmitry broke the silence, “I’m sorry I didn’t take what you said the other day very well.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Anya replied. She swallowed hard. “I took it too far.”

“You were right though,” Dmitry said quietly. “I wasn’t ready to give it up.”

Anya wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup as she looked at him. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Dmitry said softly, “is thank you.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” Anya smirked. 

Dmitry’s lip curled into a smile as his eyes cast away. He knew he deserved that jab.

“I think it’s only recently come back,” he replied. “The pottery, I mean.”

“When did you start?” Anya asked. She took a sip from her cup.

“When I was a boy,” Dmitry mused. “I was a fidgety kid and they thought putting me in art class would help. My father didn’t know what to do with me and he wasn’t around much to figure it out. I picked up a pottery class at the community center and immediately fell in love. Life seemed less loud when I was sitting at the wheel.”

Anya’s lips parted as she watched him. 

“But as I grew older I stopped doing it for love and made piece after piece just to sell to live. It was like trading a piece of my soul for a roof and a warm meal.”

Anya felt tears welling in her eyes and she blinked them away. 

“So I stopped,” Dmitry said softly. It was as if he wasn’t speaking directly to her anymore. “I don’t know what my father would say if he could see me now. Probably something like ‘you gave up on your dream, Dima.’”

“Dima?” Anya smiled warmly. 

He looked up as if he remembered Anya was there. “Yeah, that’s what he called me,” he bit his lip as he nodded. As if a single name brought back a lifetime of repressed memories. 

“He wasn’t around much, and my mom was gone before I could really remember, but he knew it meant a lot to me.” Dmitry paused as he thought. His lip turned up into a smile. “I gave him my very first piece. I was so proud of it. He put it on the mantle in our old home, as if it was a masterpiece.”

Anya touched the corner of her eye to stop a tear from rolling down her cheek. 

“Thank you, for sharing that with me,” Anya said softly. 

Dmitry looked away and ran his fingers through his hair, nearly embarrassed he had confessed so much to her. He took a sip from his cup and looked up at her. 

“What about you?” Dmitry asked. 

“Hm?” Anya replied. 

“What made you want to roam the halls of a museum all day?”

“I come from a family that loves the art industry,” Anya smiled. “My godmother worked at the Met for years, my older sister manages an Art gallery, my other older sister works in the industry. It sort of runs in the family.”

Dmitry nodded. There was a beat between them. 

“What do you like about it then?” He asked. “Other than following in your family’s footsteps.”

“The heart behind it,” Anya said softly. “I get to work with pieces every day that someone created for a reason. It’s kind of funny how we never really change as humans. We’re always drawn to create through our emotions.”

Dmitry felt his mouth gape at her response. He snapped his jaw shut and nodded in agreement. 

“So did you decide to try again?” Anya asked. 

Dmitry shook his head. “I think I lost the touch,” Dmitry replied. He knew this wasn’t true. His hands hadn’t forgotten, but his heart had. “It might take time.”

“If it comes back, let me know,” Anya replied. She scribbled her phone number on a napkin and handed it to Dmitry. “Don’t be a stranger, Dmitry. I think I owe you a private tour.”

He held the napkin and stared at it for a moment. Dmitry nodded and folded it to tuck it into his pocket. 

“I don’t want to take any more of your time,” Anya said quickly. “But I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” Dmitry said softly.

* * *

Dmitry returned to his empty apartment in the evening. Anya’s words still on his mind, he looked at the pots and vases on the self with fresh eyes. Anya had been so curious about them, now it was like he was looking at them for the first time. 

He turned and looked at the wheel in the corner of the studio. He knew Anya was right, as much as he hated to admit it. 

He started setting up his station, grabbing supplies out of his cabinets and a block of fresh clay. 

Dmitry sat at the wheel again in his studio. Smock on, a bowl of water in front of him, he was determined this time. He took a block of clay in his hands, and kneaded it gently. His thoughts slipped away as he mindlessly pressed his fingers into the clay. 

He threw it on the wheel, carefully centering it. His hands hadn’t forgotten. It was a meticulous process, but it was cathartic. 

He turned the wheel on and carefully wet his fingers. As the clay spun around he held it and shaped it. What had started as a misshaped block of clay with rough edges was becoming smooth with each turn around the wheel.

For once he felt in control, using his hands to shape and mold the clay. He had the freedom to turn it into anything his heart desired. 

Dmitry gently pressed his thumbs into the center to start it into the shape of a vase. He brought the edge up and shaped it with his fingers. 

He turned and grabbed a tool to make a pattern in the clay as it spun around. This piece felt different from his previous failed attempt. He had done over a hundred vases in his time, but this one felt inspired. 

Anya’s soft smile came to mind as his fingers curved the lip of the vase. She had so generously given him time when he knew he did not deserve it. Her heart was different. 

He clenched his jaw as he finished the vase off and shut the wheel off. He wiped his hands on his smock and grabbed a tool to help him remove the vase from the wheel. It was the first piece he had liked in a long time. 

Dmitry paused as he looked at it. It was a start. 

There was a swell of pride in his chest as he looked at the vase. It was a piece he made exactly as he had wanted to. Muscle memory didn’t seem to forget after all.

Dmitry looked down at his fingers. He hated the feeling of clay under his nails, and it took meticulous scrubbing to get it all out, but it meant he had done something he was proud of. No one could take that away from him. 

He pulled his smock over his head and set it aside, and ran his fingers through his hair. He was satisfied with his work for the day. 

Dmitry got up and walked across the apartment to his sink and scrubbed his hands clean. As he dried his hands with a towel, he remembered how dry working with clay used to make his hands. There was a roughness to his hands that hadn’t gone away, even when he stopped making ceramic pieces. 

His lip curled into a smirk as he examined his knuckles. 

Dmitry stood in his kitchen. After working for a good portion of the evening, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He paused for a moment before grabbing a plate and some cutlery, stood over the cake that had been haunting him on his counter. 

He cut a slice of cake and dropped it on a plate, and finally indulged himself in a bite. 


End file.
